


The three longest weeks  - after DMC5 - Dante hasn't returned

by BeatriceRedgrave



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: First time trying to write Gender-Neutral, First time writing for Reader, Gen, Some angst, You don't know why he didn't come back, some canon divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 15:17:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeatriceRedgrave/pseuds/BeatriceRedgrave
Summary: It's been three weeks since the DMC crew returned from Redgrave City. Except for Dante. No one is talking, and you will do whatever it takes to find out what happened.





	1. July 6th - 10:59PM

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written for Reader before with a gender neutral "you". I'll gladly fix any mistakes you find, let me know.

“Lady, you’ve been back for three weeks! Where is Dante?!” You tried _very_ hard not to yell into the phone. “The whole town is destroyed. I _am NOT AN IDIOT_. What aren’t you telling me?”

A less-than-patient sigh came from the phone. “I told you. He went to battle his douche-bag brother, Nero followed him but came back alone. Then that demonic tree crumbled and disappeared, and Nero’s not talking. That’s all know. I’m not lying to you. That jerk still has my rocket launcher and I want it back.”

“What about Nico? Come on, somebody knows where he is.”

“What, you think we left him there?” Her voice was tense, like a bow string about to break.

“NO, but…, “ somebody had to know. “He can’t just be gone. He wouldn’t do that.”

“When it comes to Vergil…”

Lady let the sentence hang there. She didn’t need to go on. Vergil was the one person Dante would drop everything for. To find. To Fight. To kill. The air around you felt like a hundred pound blanket, suffocating you. Vergil was the only explanation. Only, according to Lady, Vergil had appeared and then went missing too.

That’s why Nero was holed up, refusing to see anyone. He’d learned Vergil was his father. Dante had shared that with you years ago, but since he thought… you all thought… Vergil was dead, he never told Nero. “What the point of breaking that kid’s heart?” Dante’d asked you, when you tried to argue that Nero deserved to know. 

“You're his uncle. That’s more family than he’s ever had.” 

Dante couldn’t be moved. He could be rigidly stubborn where his family was concerned. “He’s better off the way he is. Being part of this family is no picnic.” You only managed to get one concession from him. “I guess I better make sure he doesn’t lose the Yamato,” is what he told you, when he finally agreed to at least keep tabs on Nero.

You’d met Dante just after the Fortuna cult had been wiped out. You didn’t learn much about that for a few years, until after you grew closer. You didn’t know how important it was at the time, otherwise you would have paid more attention to the details. Now, he never talked about any of it anymore, after you finally understood everything. About his mother. About Vergil.

Nero was the only thing about Dante that you didn’t fully understand, even after all this time. Without any fanfare, and without telling _you_ at all, you who’d pushed him to get to know Nero, he’d given a few things to Nero over the years. Brought Nero in on the business, even if it was in the ten-foot-pole kind of way. A fact you only found out after Dante left for this last job. When he’d first been gone for weeks with no word, no sign of Lady or Trish, you got desperate enough to call Morrison. 

Morrison told you not to worry, it was a big job, he’d brought in all the big guns, including Nero.

“Nero? Dante let Nero come on one of his jobs?”

“Lord no. I had to call the kid myself. Dante... disagreed… but we needed the full crew on this one.”

“Morrison.” You gathered your growing irritation. “How long has Nero been ‘part of the crew’.”

“Oh, let’s see. A few years back, I think it was, when Dante gave him the sign for the business. The kid needed something for his van. Good advertising.”

You had to bite your tongue for a good ten seconds. Of all the things Dante kept to himself, why the hell would this be one of them? “Which sign was that? Dante had a few in the basement. I wouldn’t even know if one was missing.”

Morrison chuckled. “Oh, the blue one with the fancy letters. Easy to read going down the road.”

You knew the one. You remembered the night Dante came up from the basement with a “box full of junk”, he called it. That sign was poking out the top. When you asked about it, all he said was, “Blue’s not my color.” It was the most you’d ever seen him clean up, which should have been a clue.

“So, how long is this job gonna take, if you had to guess?”

Morrison clammed up after that. “Nice talking to you, as always.”

And that was the last you heard from Morrison or any of the crew. Until three weeks ago, when everyone came back. Except Dante. 

Morrison was unreachable. Trish, well you never knew how to get a hold of Trish. Which just left Lady. And she’d already told you as much as she was going to. But you were desperate.

“Then I’m going to find Nero.”

“That’s not a good idea…” Lady sounded almost concerned.

“I don’t care. He’s the one who saw him last.”

“He’s not going to talk to you. He won’t talk to any of us.”

“Then he’s going to get over himself. I’m not leaving until I know, even if I have to…” you glanced behind yourself, zeroing in on the weapon you needed.

“... have to what? Listen, whatever you’re gonna do, don’t do it.”

You hung up. You knew one way to get a Sparda to respond. They never backed down from a fight.

Dante had, over the years, amassed a ridiculously large arsenal of demonic items. Weapons, not the least among them. When you first moved in with him, he gave a rundown of which ones were dangerous, and which ones were really, totally, I’m-not-kidding-don’t-ever-touch-this dangerous. He kept nearly all of it in a huge ramshackle wooden bookcase with dusty glass doors. No rhyme or reason to his storage system, he just crammed everything in that case. On the wall, though, he hung up special trophies. Things that meant something to him, even if they were only bitter reminders.

You walked over to the wall and pulled down a very intricately carved small-sword. You remember Dante had paused over it, when he was first explaining what not to touch. All he’d said, after he moved on, was that it was one of the first he’d collected. You knew, now, that he’d started this business right before he’d lost Vergil. The first time he’d lost Vergil. This sword might have had something to do with that.

You weighed it in your grip, spinning it in an arc from your wrist. Perfectly balanced. You did a basic thrust and parry, and a final slash, satisfied you could keep it seated in your hands long enough to do what you needed to do. Right now, this sword was your best chance for finding out what happened to Dante. 

You grabbed your leather jacket and strapped the sword to your back like you’d seen Dante do a hundred times. Then you grabbed the keys to his red motorcycle, revving it to a roar after nearly two months of neglect, and burned rubber out of the alley behind your building. It was a long ride to Fortuna, and you need to figure out how to get a hard headed, overpowered half breed pissed-off enough to start talking.

Nero knew everything that you knew, now, about his father. About Dante being his uncle. His _mostly absent_ uncle. However, you didn’t know if he knew about _you_. It seemed a safe bet the answer was no. Dante talked a lot, but was tight lipped about the important things. You could use that to your advantage.


	2. June 7th - 3:01am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You'll do anything to find out what happened to Dante, including picking on someone whose bigger than you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sword is based on weapons found in DMC3, but not one Dante ever used.

It was nearly the witching hour when you rolled into town under a full moon. Shadows spun from everywhere, and to your eye, they all pointed the same direction. You pulled up next to a huge, cracked fountain in what used to be a pavilion. Dandelions and miniature moonflowers bloomed in the rifts of the concrete circle that once contained a large fountain pool. You remembered it from the news footage. You took off your helmet, looking for the building that should be nearby, a four story villa whose courtyard faced this fountain. Or what was left of it. 

A crow flapped overhead and dipped low into a blown out shell of a building. The structure no longer had a front wall, and a third of it was falling in on itself, ending in a pile of rubble at one edge. A six foot orange construction fence surrounded it, as if the plastic could contain the glaring trauma the home had seen. 

Your heart squeezed. Dante had been here. This was part of the wreckage he’d left behind without a backwards glance. 

A single moonlit walkway guided you to a gate in the fence, and you picked your way through the huge chunks of rebar and cinder-block towards the villa. You heard eerie creaks and groans of protest carried on the breeze, as if the building itself were ashamed at being seen. 

Like the fountain, nature had found its way inside the orange fence as well. Vines grew up the sides of what still stood, and exposed tree roots showed where a garden had once been, and was trying to be again. In the face of such determination, you nearly lost your own. Nero deserved to be left alone. If only you could.

You texted Lady. “Tell Nico she can find something of Vergil’s in the middle of town. Tell her, if they want it, they’ll have to come get it.”

Lady texted back almost immediately. “Have you lost your mind?”

“We’ll see. Will you give them that message, exactly?” 

“Your funeral.”

It wouldn’t come to that. Nero was a hot head, but he wasn’t a bad guy. 

You climbed one stable-enough pile of rubble to what used to be the first floor. After a moment, you found a spot in a dark corner, shaded from the moonlight, and sat down on the cold concrete to wait. 

Enough time passed you started to wonder if he’d come at all. What would you do then? Dante would have just waited outside Nero’s door. “Hey kid, you too chicken to fight or what?” 

As you were wishing for the tenth time that your ass didn’t already hurt from the long ride, never mind the concrete, you heard tires squealing in the distance. Two headlights raced down the main drag, coming from the opposite way you’d entered the city. The van, with the sign Morrison had told you about in plain sight, flew past where you’d parked Dante’s bike. A split second later it screeched to a halt and slammed into reverse, stopping with a spray of gravel next to the bike.

Nico, you assumed, since you’d never met her, hopped down from the driver’s side and over to Dante’s bike, hands on her hips. From your vantage point, you could hear voices carried on the wind.

“Well don’t ask me, but if it don’t belong to your deadbeat family, this shiny beast is coming home with me,” she yelled over her shoulder. “And don’t you argue none. You owe me.” She ran her hands along the bike’s curves in a lustful caress. 

“Whatever.” A young man grumbled and drug ass around the hood of the van.

Your breath caught. Dante said there was too much resemblance to not be related, but you’d never have imagined this. He looked just like Dante, younger of course, and with shorter hair… but that face. You could see the reflection of ice blue eyes from here, and the same determined set of his jaw. Briefly, you wondered about his mother and if he inherited any features at all from her, because you saw nothing but his uncle. It was uncanny. 

Nico pulled herself away from the bike, with some visible effort and more than one backwards glance. “So, where exactly is the center of town now, anyway?” She waived an arm around. “Used to be somewhere over there, but... “ she looked skeptically towards where you waited in shadows, “nothing’s left over there now.”

You pulled the short sword and stabbed it forcefully down in front of you, letting it glint in the moonlight. The small crack of impact echoed off the walls around you, and below. 

Nico looked around, following the sound, but Nero pulled out a gun and pointed it straight at the sword. “I don’t know who you are, or what you want, but you’re gonna regret messing with me tonight.”

You smiled. He had his uncle’s manners, too. You stood and let yourself be seen in the moonlight, both hands solidly ahold of the hilt. You kept the moon to your back, face shrouded in shadow. You called down. “This was your father’s, when he was about your age. Thought you might like to see what it can do.” 

Nico reached a hand towards Nero’s shoulder, but he kicked a leg back and dropped into a sprint. He hurdled the fountain and slid over the far side, skidding to a halt a hundred feet from the edge of the villa, nearly faster than you could step back fully into the shadows.

“Why don’t you just toss it down here, before I come up there and show you what I can do.”

According to Dante, that was quite a lot. “Kid needs training, but he packs one helluva punch,” he’d said, one of the few times he’d shared details about Nero, and Fortuna.

“Hey, by the way, If you stole my uncle’s bike, you and I are gonna have a serious problem.” Nero had holstered his gun, and put both hands on his hips, glaring upwards with a squint.

“Dante wasn’t there to stop me,” You projected, letting your voice reverberate. “You wouldn’t know anything about that?”

Nero narrowed his eyes and reached over his shoulder, pulling out his own sword. “Who are you, anyway?”

You just laughed. Dante _hated_ when demon’s laughed at him, and you were betting Nero was the same. You heard a frustrated growl, the crunch of gravel, and then you had to cover your eyes as a blinding blue-ish glow appeared in the air in front of you. You heard a thud, and raised the sword in reflexive parry, still partially blinded. 

Your sword collided with steel, pushing you back. You dug in, but slid in the dust before coming to a stop. Your wrist throbbed already from the force of the blow. You knew from training with Dante that blow was barely any effort on Nero’s part. Only an opening move.

You ducked under the crossed swords and spun in, letting the weight of Nero’s arm onto your shoulder. He stepped back and shoved you away, keeping the blade out of range of his ribs where you’d aimed. You weren’t worried about hurting him, you’d never done any lasting damage to Dante.

“Is that all you got? I’m disappointed. Here I thought my father had better taste in weapons.”

Every time Dante had ever warned you about not touching anything in his hall of weapons, he’d been very clear about one single thing. “No matter what happens, don’t bleed on them.” 

You’d scoffed. “How would I accidentally bleed on them? They’re six feet off the ground.”

He shrugged. “Blood splatters, trust me,” was all he answered.

You took your left hand off the pommel and held it out flat, palm up. In a quick motion, you sliced the sword down and through, then stopped with the sword embedded a half inch into your hand. You felt the ripple of pain go through you, and it only intensified as the carvings on the sword began to glow. You nearly dropped to one knee as the sword leeched the blood from your hand, body beginning to shake with pain. Your vision started to blur, and with great effort, you pulled the sword from your palm and swung it around upright in your remaining good hand.

From the corner of your eye, you could see the blood filling the design in seconds, closing the outer loop and emitting a high pitched ringing whine. As if it wanted more.

Nero dropped his sword a foot lower, watching yours. “That’s looks more like it,” he said, with disgust. Then he met your eye. “You sure you wanna do this?” He dropped one hand from his sword and swung it in a single arc. “I _could_ handicap myself, to make it fair, but you started it.” He brought his free hand back to his sword, up and ready to begin again.

Fighting wasn’t what you wanted from him. Talking was. “You sound like Dante,” You said, putting yourself into a low fighting stance. You clenched your bleeding fist, trying to ignore the burning pain.

He took one aggressive step forward, sword leveled at your head. “What do _you_ know about it anyway?”

“Dante wanted this sword.” You sidestepped slowly. “As a memorial to your father.” You took another slow sidestep, which Nero mirrored exactly.

Nero came at you so fast it was sheer will that you raised the sword in time to block. But he pushed closer until he was only a few inches from your face, only the two swords between you. 

“I’m gonna ask you one more time. Who. Are. You?” he ground out, pushing down with each word until your knees began to buckle.

You forced a grin onto your face. “A trade then. I’ll tell you who I am, if you tell me where he is.”

Nero retreated immediately, spinning away then jabbing the tip of his sword into the ground, breathing heavily, but not from exertion.

“I don’t know,” he spat.

But he looked away when he said it. A lie. Anger bubbled inside you, rushing to the surface. He _knew_. You forgot about your bleeding hand and grabbed the sword with both, raising it with a scream of rage. 

Nero raised his in a flash, but before you could swing, he stopped, frozen, eyes wide.

You looked up at the ten smaller, quivering golden swords hovering above you and pointed at Nero. You looked back at him, and you felt the swords above following your movement, as clearly as you felt the blood throbbing out of your hand into the pommel. You gritted your teeth, anger raging inside you, as furious as it had been sudden. And then you knew, You could send them into him as easily and quickly as he could push his into you. You could taste the tang of bitter victory, as if this were a fight to the death.

You saw the moment Nero knew it too, when it crossed his eyes. You saw him consider it, relish it, for a mere moment. Then a shadow came over his eyes, and his shoulders sagged just the tiniest fraction. He didn’t lower his sword, but rather kept it pointed at you. “I’ve only seen two other people who could do that. You’re the third.”

You could see it pained him to do it, but he sheathed his sword. You struggled to resist the nearly overwhelming urge to run him through, but something about his hunched shoulders made it through your red haze. You gritted your teeth, forced your sword to the floor then tore your hand away from the pommel, removing it’s source of blood. You felt when the swords disappeared from above your head, like cool air rushing into starving lungs. You breathed in gasps. This time, you did drop to your knees.

Nero lurched forward, grabbing you by your shoulders and hauling you upright. “Hey now, don’t go passing out on me before you tell me who you are.”

Your head felt heavy on your shoulders. “Tell me where Dante is.”

He stiffened, but didn’t drop you. Then he let out a lengthy sigh. “You might as well come back to my place. You look like shit.”

That’s how you felt. You let him drop a shoulder under one arm and hoist you fully upright. You were able to walk with him, but slowly, and he matched your pace. “Nico can try to fix your hand.” He had to realize by now you didn’t heal like he did, but he didn’t ask any more questions.

Nico was waiting, took one look at you, then darted around for the sword. “This it? What a beauty!” She pulled it from your sheath and held it out in front of her. She studied it for several moments, then gave you a considering look. “You said this was Vergil’s?”

You nodded.

Nero huffed. “Never mind whose it was. Open van the door. We’re going back to my place.”

Nico ran around and opened the door, and Nero helped you inside. “Hey, why dontcha drive the van back. I’ll take the bike.” She rubbed her hands in anticipation.

Nero’s eyes widened in disbelief. “The way _you_ drive? Dante’d kill me if you wrecked that bike.”

Nico started walking towards the back of the van. “ _If_ he ever comes back. Which he hasn’t. Yet.”

Nero followed her, and you heard their voices as they argued. You let your eyes droop closed. “I’m driving the bike. You take the van. At least if you crash nobody will be more pissed than you are.”

Nico laughed. “Fine.” She drummed her hands against the side of the van. “Nobody messes with my workshop except me.” She hopped in the driver’s side and slammed the door. You felt her look you over, even with your eyes closed.

She put the key in the ignition and turned it half a crank, just enough to turn on the power. Then she leaned towards you. “Just so’s you know. After you and Nero work out whatever business you got, you’re gonna tell me where you really got this. Or I’m gonna tell Nero the truth about it.”


End file.
